


He Likes Teenagers

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Total Drama
Genre: Acting, Age Difference, Bondage, Chris is gross, Chris is into teenage boys, Emetophilia, Goes from sexual to violent, Guro, M/M, Mal is equally gross, No actual sex happens, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has odd tastes. Mike is a tease. Mike turns out not to be Mike. Things go downhill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Likes Teenagers

**Author's Note:**

> i was sort of throwing around a concept like this:
> 
> Character A is interested in having sex with Character B. Character B tricks them into coming to their bedroom, or pretends to be vulnerable and "is coerced into sex", and then slaughters them for pleasure. Character A is either horrified or surprisingly okay with it.
> 
> So when I got back on my TD kick this is the first thing I thought of. I was either going to go with Mal or Topher, but I haven't watched Pahkitew in a long-ass time and do not plan to. Also Mal's eloquence just better adheres to my writing style. Not to mention Chris has a vaguely canon interest in jail-bait. (Why would you flirt with Lindsay? She doesn't even know what you're talking about, dude.)
> 
> Chris lives. Just barely. I dunno how accurate this is but it sounded fun.

What a dire mistake he had made.

It began when he was 20. Because hey, the younger folks were still more attractive to him. Fast forward ten years. Still into it. Wait, wasn't that like, illegal or something? Nobody would even be stupid enough to get behind a kink like that. It wasn't like he lacked self-control. Hell, he'd gotten this far. The problem arose when he began working with 16-year-olds on television. Christ, even the boys dressed like hookers.

So most nights were spent with a tissue in hand, his pants rolled down, and names of the little bastards running through his head.

Lindsay. Harold. Sierra. Scott. Zoey. Courtney. Mike.

Mike wasn't an interesting one, per se. Average body, stupid haircut, and a voice that got grating surprisingly fast. But what came as a shock to him was that Mike was one kinky motherfucker. The exchange was short, as Mike claimed Chris was giving the contestants strange looks. Then it slowly escalated. It escalated more and more until he finally came out and asked to see him in a private moment during the night. He wasn't anything special, but this was a once in a lifetime chance. Chris accepted.

Scaling the island late at night was somewhat of a challenge. Anything that moved could cause these shitheads to wake up. Many of them were very light sleepers, and he wasn't quite sure that Gwen slept at all. However he approached the private cabin with haste. A very expensive building indeed. This thing cost him a fortune, but at least tonight he'd be making use of the double bed.

Despite having paid to build this behemoth, Chris almost immediately got lost in its numerous corridors. Honestly he should have just written signs on everything in case this happened. However, he discovered the bedroom in due time.

Mike was already prepared. Rope and chains and various other doo-dads. Just what he liked.

"So, I found this wild natural aphrodisiac in the woods." Mike began, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "It's absolutely insane. I rubbed the gel from the buds all over Scott's face and I could hear him whacking off all night. It's like viagra on viagra."

"Damn."

"Alright." He shoved his hand into some tub of gel. What a weird place to store that shit. "Shut your eyes, big man. Dunno what this could do if it got in any open orifices."

He closed his eyes. However, his face was not met with a substance other than a cold metal, as he was slammed into the doldrums of unconsciousness. Not a comfortable sleep, like a midnight rest after a long night of boozing with the guys. It was a forced sleep. A painful one.

Honestly, he would have preferred to stay in the emptiness instead of rising to the sensation of chafing rope on his bared ankles. It made such an ugly noise, too. Damn him for not shaving that ankle hair. He observed his surroundings as soon as his vision straightened out. Still the bedroom. Mike appeared to have gone missing.

He cursed under his breath, trying to shift the rope in any way possible. It was incredibly tight. The only thing he accomplished was getting rope burns, quite frankly. And that's when he heard it. A soft whistling. 'In The Hall of The Mountain King'. Then the sound of a metal trolley sliding across the carpeted hall, objects clattering against its surface. Chris almost felt as though he were at the dentist, or perhaps in some wild dream where he was there.

The trolley slid into the room first, gleaming in the moonlight from the open window. It rolled perfectly to his side. Covered in knives, blunt objects, nails, syringes, and other things he didn't even recognize. Immediately his skin went cold and his breath became heavy. This was not in his plans for the night.

The whistling resumed, as well as footsteps.

"Hello?"

No response.

"I think Mike is a bondage addict, I want out."

Nothing.

"I can hear you walking, don't ignore me. I have a show to run."

"Gross."

Chris froze in his place. That was not a voice he recognized. Who in the fresh hell would show up on this island uninvited? Furthermore, on his property? In _his house?_

It was so dark he could only see a thin figure passing by. A disconcertingly familiar figure, at that.

"Uh, Mike? Do we need to set like, sex parameters here? A safeword maybe?"

"I don't believe in 'safe'."

"...Right. Look, we all insist we don't have herpes, but the truth is most people have herpes. And I don't want your herpes."

Mike finally came into the low light, his hair combed over one side of his face. Chris thought it looked awfully stupid. However, he decided not to mention it. It's not like dungeon shenanigans were all too serious anyhow. Some of those dommes wore boots half their height.

"I wasn't planning on performing intercourse."

"...Then why the fuck am I here?"

"I was just testing something." He reached over, tugging on an intravenous drip in Chris' arm, immediately sending a shock through his veins. He was so preoccupied trying to leave he didn't even notice there was a needle in his arm. "Seeing if you'll survive or not."

"Look, if you're not willing to put the viagra plant in my eyes, then what made you think it was a good idea to inject it into my bloodstream."

"You're an idiot."

Only now was it dawning on him that, perhaps, Mike had just shoved his hand in his ass and worked this old bastard like a sock puppet. 

"Oh wait. I get it. You're going to torture me until I just hand over the million. No dice, breadslice." 

"Nope."

"...I'm not withholding any government information."

"Don't care."

"I didn't have sex with your girlfriend."

"None of my business."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

"To see an old man suffer. What's it like?"

At this point Chris was tentatively searching for an escape method. The room was too dark for him to see anything past a couple feet. Even then, he didn't recall putting anything in this bedroom that could assist in an escape from kidnapping. Regardless of that, Mike tied him down good. Even if he could so much as move tied to this chair, he'd have to either drag the IV or have a big gaping wound in his upper arm.

And suddenly, his body went cold.

"If the IV doesn't work fast enough, I threw some nice grey arsenic down your throat. Couldn't get the white stuff."

He blinked. Mike continued.

"All that's in there is salt water. Wanted to see what a sodium poisoning would look like, but eh. I'll save it for someone more important."

At this point he could taste the blood dribbling down his forehead.

"I also used some of the cleaning supplies. At this point you'd be safest getting your stomach pumped. I mean, not that it'll happen." Using Chris' cell phone, Mike snapped a few photos of his victim. "Maybe I'll put these online."

"I'll call my lawyer." Chris attempted to remain calm. Little bastard.

"Right, on a roadside payphone. You're not going anywhere."

For a long time he just sat there. Occasionally Mike would walk by, jotting down notes in a notebook. There was no sleeping due to a sort of burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. (Bleach, perhaps?)

Then came the first wave. A sudden onslaught of nausea, crawling through his body like a fat maggot in his throat. His whole body felt as though it were on fire, melting from the inside out. The trachea convulsed, swallowing backwards as he began to regurgitate. A pool of goo and grime at his feet, stinking of acid. He shut his mouth, swallowing the rest of the bits in his mouth.

"Interesting."

He jotted down a few more notes. Silently, he shoved his finger into the puddle of bile, and swallowed it. "Very interesting."

His body was covered in cold sweat for the next hour. Eight times he swallowed bile. Eight damn times. Each time Mike scribbled down a few notes. He could feel the burning in his nose perpetually, but he refused to entertain this bastard child until he could get some assistance.

Then it returned with a vengeance. This time it used his nose as a passage, and it was a reddish tint with blood. His eyes nearly rolled back. Fuck, that one hurt.

"I neglected to introduce myself. I'm Mal, old man."

"...Oh, right." He blinked off the acidic burning sensation. "Mike has like, eight other Mikes in his brain."

"You're better like this, I think." Mike, or Mal, was digging under the bed, holding a glass bottle in his lanky hands. "Syrup of ipecac. Took me awhile to find this stuff on sale, too. Convinced our very own old man to get it."

"Syrup of what now?"

"Right! I forgot. You're an idiot."

Chris scowled. Rude little shit. Should've just tossed him out like he did Sierra a few years ago. "Ipecac," Mal continued, "induces intense vomiting. I'm going to see if I can get all of these poisons out of your body before the morning."

"...Ew. You're seriously some kind of--"

He was cut off by the bottle neck. It didn't taste like anything pleasant. Immediately it sent rushes up his spine, and the burning in his throat resumed as he spat into the ground.

"The bleach probably burned out a lot of your inner skin. People die drinking that." He smiled for the first time that night. "If you survive 'till morning, you'd best not tell anyone it was me."

He attempted to respond, but was cut off by another surge of illness blasting through his mouth, between his teeth. This time it was mostly blood. "If you do, I'll do more than just serve you some bleach, window cleaner and nonlethal poisons. Are we clear?"

Chris nodded. What else could he do?

The rest of the night felt endless. He vomited until there was nearly nothing left. Then, as gore began to flow into his stomach he spat that as well. At one point Mal removed the IV and shoved one end in Chris' mouth. Literal salt in the wounds. It landed on the floor.

As the sun began to rise, he was discarded outside the door, between the two cabins. The grass turned a light red as he emptied what little remained in his body. Fuck, he just wanted to go home. His entire face had become wet, not just with acid and cruor, but with his gross old man tears. His insides were on fire.

Zoey was the first to see him outside. She almost left, knowing he wasn't doing anyone any favors. He would have begged and pleaded, but his raspy whines said all that was necessary. She got the other kids, and they got Chef. There were so many questions, of what happened and who did what, and was he okay? How long would it take for him to recover? His only response was barely a whisper.

He closed his eyes. This time, he welcomed sleep. Perhaps, an opportunity was best left alone.


End file.
